


Redox Potential

by scribblywobblytimeylimey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Angst, Fluff, I just wanted to write smut with tattoo sleeves, Ink!kink, Light Masochism, M/M, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Tattoos, This can be read as gen or romantic for Stucky, and then feels happened, but there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:31:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblywobblytimeylimey/pseuds/scribblywobblytimeylimey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the first things Steve does when he comes to is checks his arm.</p><p>When Bucky died and he couldn’t drink, he searched for a more permanent solution; but it turns out 70 years on a Super Soldier makes for a mighty faded tattoo.</p><p>To his surprise, it’s Tony who has the best advice on where to go for a refresher. And when Steve decides to get a new tattoo to commemorate everyone he’s lost, Tony’s long-forgotten inking bug bites again.</p><p>[Currently on hiatus! I have the story planned out, but no time to write it. Not sure when it'll be back - in the meantime, feel free to check out my other fics!]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Redox Potential

**Author's Note:**

> So, this first chapter works fine as a standalone, and I may never publish any more, but I’ve got the bug myself and I already have a huge set of tattoos planned out for both our boys. As I say in the tags, this can be gen or slash for Steve and Bucky. I don’t ship it, but I wanted it to be open and you're welcome to read it in any way you please. So, in case I (and the readers) want some more, I’ll update this and put it off ‘complete’ mode. Feels, sexual tension, and pinning each other down with tattoo-sleeved arms to fuck are in my plans for this story if so.
> 
> Totally inspired by [this](http://scribblywobblytimeylimey.tumblr.com/post/90607633496/everyworldneedslove-tisfan) tumblr post. God it’s hot. God it’s so hot.
> 
> (Oh, and I wrote this all today, so any corrections are much appreciated.)

 

“I’m an addict,” Tony said, setting down his glass a little sharp to emphasis the point. “Addiction is what I do best, Steve. Are you honestly surprised?”

“You hide them well,” Steve replied, because - well, he _was,_ honestly. A little. “I guess it just doesn’t seem like you.”

Tony snorted. “Get real, Cap.” He was looking him dead in the eye, lounging back on his chair playfully. “I was a tearaway, playboy, pain-in-the-ass, problem-child child-genius with daddy issues. I made the bad decision to drink night and day, which, believe me, didn’t help on the decision-making front, and I was a train wreck who wanted to hurt himself _and_ make a statement. You’re telling me all of that doesn’t add up to a few tattoos in your mind?”

Steve stared at him resolutely. “I guess I missed a lot.”

Tony tossed back his drink. “You’re telling me. And then you have the gall to act surprised when it’s you who started all of this? You! Mr Clean-shaven…if it’s not a tattoo of the American flag, I’ll eat your shield.”

Steve closed his eyes. He’d explained his tattoos before, way back when, but never completely. And there was no better way of illustrating his need for permanence, now, when -

“It’s gone?” Tony said, interrupting his thoughts.

Steve looked up; nodded.

“As in, totally totally invisible? Nada? All Super-Soldier-metabolized away?”

“Totally gone.” His throat was dry. “I never even got a chance to notice it was fading.”

Tony nodded. “And you want it back?”

Steve stared at him. _I want_ ** _him_** _back,_ he thought venomously. _I want_ ** _him_** _back, and even his_ ** _memento_** _is gone._

He kept on staring at Tony, and suddenly the words fell right free. “My best friend fell to his death right in front of me. I couldn’t take a drink because my body burned it away. I tore out chunks of my own hair, and they were back the next day,” he said. His tongue felt too light, inertia driving out words he hadn’t spoken in decades. “I wanted to _hurt.”_

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

Steve needed to stop, but he’d made the incision. “I wanted to _bleed_. I wanted it so badly, you know that, Tony? Did you know that? And I couldn’t have it. Any of it. But even if I could, it wouldn’t be enough to make up for what happened. My body was never my own. I gave it over to my country and everything I fought for. Every injury I sustained, it…” He snapped his fingers. “Refreshed. All new. Just like that.”

He shook his head. “If I fought for freedom, I was damn well going to use it. I’m not about to leave behind the fallen. I wanted it scarred into me. What happened to him. It needed a memorial I wouldn’t forget.”

His gaze fell to the floor. “I’m old,” he admitted. “My world is gone. I wish it weren’t so, but there’s nothing left of it here. And there are some things I never want to forget. Never want the world to forget.”

Tony met his eye awkwardly, then reached for the bottle. “Okay,” he said roughly. The liquid gathering in his glass sounded almost shy in the suddenly quiet room. “You win.”

 

***

 

The sun glared back at him until Steve held a hand over his eyes. “This the place?”

Tony was in sunglasses Steve hadn’t realized he’d brought - but then, he probably had a fold-away umbrella tucked in his jeans pocket, too. “I know - it doesn’t look like much. Call it a hidden gem.”

“Hidden,” Steve repeated. “Yeah, that’s kind of what I need.”

The sun was still winking in his eyes, and the sign would look faded even out of the shade, but it was black on yellow in a good old-fashioned font, still easy enough to make out: _Kirby’s_.

It was a little corner shop, wind chimes hitting Steve in the head as he stepped in behind Tony. The little black and white tiles splayed out from the corner where the door narrowed the room into a point; the brunette behind the counter was smiling and gorgeous, and the whole place felt quaint. It was clean, but not clinical - Steve almost felt like he’d stepped in to get a haircut.

“Hi!” The brunette said chirpily, waving at them. “Welcome to Kirby’s, where we don’t have a tagline because fuck it, Darcy, say whatever you want to, I’ve been in business for over forty years and nothing those fuckers hear over the counter will change their mind about a Tasmanian Devil butt tattoo.” She smiled brightly. “How can I help you?”

Steve blinked at her repeatedly and intelligently while Tony laughed.

Darcy lowered her eyes at him. “Mr Stark. I’ve heard _so_ much about you. Here to help a novice artist earn her stripes?”

Tony held up his hands. “I’m not the one getting stripes on him.” He clapped Steve’s shoulder. “My friend here wants a tattoo, so I’m bringing him to the best.”

She looked at them longingly, but nodded. “Mr Kirby’s in the back,” she said. “Sir?” she called over her shoulder. “Tony Stark for you?”

A moment of radio silence, then: “Holy…” and some coughing. “Well, what are you waiting for? Wave him through! Hell…Stark…”

He was stood facing away from them as they stepped past the sliding partition, blowing smoke out of small, high window. “Hell,” he said again, cigarette still between his lips, “After all this time? And here I thought you were too busy with the CEO lifestyle.” He turned around to reveal a real New York face - the only way Steve could think to describe it. He had tan skin, white hair streaked with dark grey, receding at intervals, and a smart smile.

“Half-right,” Tony said, and his voice sounded strange. Steve turned to see him staring at the walls, which were covered in gorgeous, framed sketches of everything under the sun. Steve’s eyes settled on a steampunk dolphin. “Good to see you, Jack. And actually, it’s for my friend here. He wants a tattoo on his arm. Just a quick one. Think you could take a look?”

Jack crushed his cigarette. “Nothing like a pipe,” he grumbled. “And I can do one better than that, Stark. We had a cancellation just today. I can fit him in now, if it’s quick. Roll up your sleeve, son, give me a look.” He eyed Tony. “What - you finally perfected mind control?”

Tony gave a wounded look. “I remember you telling me when your down times are…other than that, sheer dumb luck. You’d better not be fitting us in as VIPs without telling me?”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “You wish, son.” He laughed. “No; business is slow, these days. People are heading out to the shinier, new places. The ones that don’t smell of smoke through and through. Between you and me, I think our receptionist brings in about half of our traffic now, anyway - but still. You fellas will be booking in advance next time you want a tattoo from me.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve said. “How long was this slot?”

Jack took a look at his left arm. “Good canvass you’ve got here." He leaned back. "Guy wanted a back tattoo and bailed - so unless you’re wanting the Gettysburg address…”

Steve shook his head, feeling giddy at the first stroke of luck he’d had with inking since the 40s. “Just a few words, sir. I’ll get the reference.” He dug his left hand into his pocket.

“This your first?” Kirby asked.

Steve hesitated, not sure how to answer. “No.” Probably best to leave it at that.

He found his notebook. “I…I don’t still have the book I first drew it in,” Steve said. His eyes smarted already at that, which was the last thing he needed. “But I sketched it up again.”

He flipped to a page with the top right corner folded down. “Here.”

He could feel Tony trying to look, but he didn’t care. It probably wouldn’t make much sense to anyone else; which was exactly why it was so perfect.

Jack lifted it up, eyed it, and read it out all the same. “ _Bucky,_ ” he said, “ _The line doesn’t end here._ ” He looked up at where Steve was finishing rolling up his sleeve over his shoulder. “That right?”

“That’s it,” Steve agreed. “Right here.”

He ran a finger over his bicep, over and over, right where the tattoo used to be.

Jack held out his fingertip. “Here?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Precisely here to precisely here, here, and here. I’ll let you know how the letter spacing’s shaping up as we go.”

Jack slid his finger across the tiniest fraction, and laughed when Steve nodded. “I like a man who’s specific,” he grinned. “You really know how you want this to be, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly, not missing Tony shifting from foot to foot out of the corner of his eye.

“Alright,” Jack said. “We can pretty much get going. Just come on through and take a seat. Now, you haven’t been drink…”

Tony laughed. “Don’t even bother. Are we looking at the same man right now?”

Jack raised his eyebrows and laughed right back. “Well, son, it must have been a while. I don't need to ink it all as I go. I can pop your notepad in the thermal fax, get a stencil of it on your skin and be off.”

Steve smiled, off-guard. “Right from what I wrote?” He sat down in the central chair, waited for a few seconds of whirring and silence, and then Jack was back.

“Right from what you wrote. Right here?”

Steve nodded.

“You shaved already? Good to see.”

Steve opened and then closed his mouth - and then suddenly his tattoo was back. His eyes widened, and Jack grinned. “If only it were that easy, right?”

Tony brought his hand away from his mouth, where he seemed to have been nibbling absent-mindedly at a hangnail. “Jack’s still the quickest in town. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

“Perfectionists are their own devils,” Kirby said, and Steve nodded, but Tony gave a snort.

“You know, Jack, you’ve said that every time I’ve been in here?”

Jack raised his eyebrows at Tony. “And how are yours shaping up, young man?”

Tony snorted again. “Young.” He shook his head. “They’re holding up, Jack. What can I say? Your work is timeless.”

Jack turned to cough into his shoulder. “Yeah,” he smiled. “Young.” He took a long breath. “Always a delight to work on you, Tony. If you ever change your mind…” He got the needle whirring and turned to Steve. “You ready?”

He nodded; Jack touched it to his shoulder; Steve moaned, suddenly, feet curling into the floor.

Jack lifted the needle. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he gasped. “Fine. It’s just…been a while since I…well, since I felt that. No, it’s fine.”

Jack nodded and pressed on.

Steve pressed his lips together, but it didn’t last long before he was gasping again. He could only thank God this was a normal reaction - the rushing of blood through his system, less so.

He cleared his throat against his spare fist. It wasn’t like this had never happened before; it was just so rare to feel much pain from anything short of getting shot - which was decidedly unpleasant - and this would probably feel horrendous on any normal person, but on Steve?

It was enough. _Just_ enough. Just enough to really feel it; the way he only felt heat if it were blistering, cold if it were ice up against his skin. He needed the extremes to begin to suffer; to even feel it at all.

_Don’t think happy thoughts._

Distraction was probably his only move here. “So, Tony,” he said lightly. “You have tattoos?”

“What, he didn’t show you?” Jack chuckled over the buzz of the needle. “Half-sleeves on each arm, shoulders down-“

“Jack,” Tony said in a warning tone.

Well. So much for that line of conversation.

Steve shifted in his seat, trying not to let the sensations get to him, and praying that if they did, nobody would be looking at his lap.

Thankfully, Jack stepped in to save him.

“Son,” he said, and his tone was careful. “I could pretend I don’t recognize you, but I don’t see much point in that.”

Steve’s eyes flicked up to him, but he didn’t move another muscle.

“You’ve had this tattoo before.”

It was almost a question. Steve nodded.

Jack touched the needle to his skin again, and the wave passed over his body as he tried not to move. “I would be honored,” he said, “To hear the story behind it.”

Steve could feel Tony wavering, poised to excuse himself. He sighed. “Siddown, Stark,” he said wearily. “It only makes sense to tell it while we’re here. This whole thing’s about honoring his memory, right?”

Tony opened his mouth.

“And if I’m telling a perfect stranger, you’re hearing it too,” Steve interrupted. “And that’s final. Got it? Have a little respect.”

Tony spread his arms wide and sat down on the bench.

Steve stared at the needle, and only the needle. He took in a few sharp breaths at the sting of it, and slowly released them before he spoke. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. My friend Bucky. We grew up together, until-“

_Until there was snow falling between them and he should have reached farther and his hand turned to ice stretched out in the empty air where he’d been._

Steve cleared his throat. “Well, we grew up together. We were like this, you know?” He crossed his fingers. “Went on double dates that never really worked out for me. Begged for leftovers at the local Italian. Or we’d just hang out at his place, or mine, just talking. I’d sketch him, and he’d laugh at me, but I just wanted to keep the memories of the…the good times. Anyway, then he enlisted, and I…tried to enlist, over and over, until they made me big. God, his face when he…” Steve laughed, but there was more behind the disbelief on Bucky’s face when he’d rescued him - and he didn’t dare to think about what else they’d made him see. “When I found out they got captured, I…my friends gave me a lift in. I dropped behind enemy lines and I knocked them out thinking of him. We let them out, everyone, led them out of the base, and I found Bucky just in time. The place was burning down when we got out of there, and I had to…” The look on Bucky’s face before he did it. “I had to…jump…”

_He didn’t want to blink, because as soon as he blinked he’d be gone completely - but then the snow did his blinking for him, and then there was nothing, nothing, where instead there should have been Bucky, Bucky holding back onto his arm tight, warm and tenacious and alive._

_It was only right that Steve should freeze, too._

“Yeah,” he said to Jack in an undertone. “Yep, that’s perfect so far.” He watched as he curved the top of an “n” onto his old, smooth skin, and wiped away the excess, his fair skin slowly turning stormier, even as he tried to keep his tone light.

 

***

 

Jack had clapped his untouched shoulder right before they left. “It was an honor to draw on you today, Captain,” he said. “Swing by again any time you like.”

It was then that Steve had thought, _maybe I will._

He wanted to wait and see the outcome of this, first, though he knew it wouldn’t be anything short of perfect.

The only problem was Tony pestering him when it was time to take the bandage off.

“No. Gently. _Gently._ Make sure it’s wet enough. And don’t go running it under water. And don’t forget - _no_ scratching.”

“I know,” he grouched. “I’ve had it done before, you know.”

“Not as many times as me. And I’m not having you mess this up - it’s practically a felony…”

He couldn’t think of a way to tell Tony he wanted to be alone with the tattoo, because - well, it didn’t really make sense, did it? Not even to him. It was the ghost of a ghost of a ghost, and still…

The bandage lifted clean off.

Steve traced his finger in the air above it, following it over once, twice - then making little circles in the air where Bucky’s name was.

It was perfect. His eyes flicked between his reflection above the sink and his arm itself, and he stared over and over again at the period at the end of the sentence, thinking of Bucky’s eyes when he fell, when Steve jumped, when they first found him, when he died…

Tony was still talking; talking angrily about scabbing, insistently about lotions, exhorting him about excessive touch, and Steve’s finger moved in the air between the reflection of Bucky’s name and Bucky’s name tattooed on his skin; he wished he could wave Tony away, but he was on a roll, and the words started to crash into Steve’s ears like slow echoes of themselves, _“Correct aftercare procedure…”_

Steve choked once.

He got back control straight after, but the damage was done. His eyes were wet.

“Steve?”

He clutched the top of his shoulder and blinked, and then his face was wet.

“You okay?”

He choked again, but softer, and covered his face, sniffing hard and nodding.

A few moments later, he felt Tony’s hand rest lightly on his free shoulder.

He didn’t open his eyes. For a while, they stayed just like that.

Eventually, he whispered, “I should never have needed this in the first place.”

Tony nodded and squeezed his shoulder. “This way, he…” He waved. “This way he lasts as long as you do.”

Steve stared at the ground.

Tony cleared his throat. “Was that the wrong thing to say? I never - I never know the right thing to…”

Steve shook his head.

 

***

 

“Maybe I will,” he said to Tony.

It had only been three weeks, but that was one of those Super Soldier perks. His tattoo was more than healed by every conventional definition.

“JARVIS, kill the music,” Tony said. “What was that?”

“Maybe I will go back again,” Steve said more loudly, “Get another tattoo. Like Jack said.” He leaned back against the counter while Tony eyed a screw.

“Told you it was addictive.”

Steve managed not to roll his eyes. “I was thinking, you know,” he said. “And…well, it’s not just Bucky I’ve lost, now. So I thought it’s only right to get one for everyone. And I’d like you to come with me,” he said quickly, looking down, “If you don’t mind, and if you have time.”

Tony looked at him, eyebrows fractionally higher than they had been. “Sure,” he said, turning away. “If you need someone to hold your hand, pumpkin. Captain America? Who’d have thought it.”

Steve smiled at the floor. “Well. Always good to have moral support.”

Tony set down his screwdriver. “You set on this already?”

Steve looked down at his shoulder, tracing his tattoo with his eyes, and shook his head. “Just a thought.”

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [tumblr](http://scribblywobblytimeylimey.tumblr.com). I'll love you 9ever.


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